Chapter 9: Cornered
Patricia filed the motion to preserve Broadview Family Services records that afternoon.
By evening, the agency's attorney had called her back.
The original physical files for my case had already been flagged for destruction.
Routine archival clearance, the attorney said.
Scheduled months ago.
"Convenient timing," Patricia said, when she relayed the message to Cecelia and me.
"She has someone at the agency," I said.
"Had.
Past tense.
The court order went through.
The files are frozen." Patricia set down her phone.
"She moved fast, which tells us she knew we were moving.
Your father was right.
She's not waiting."
The next morning, she did not wait.
I was at Cecelia's apartment when my phone rang.
Number I didn't recognize.
I answered anyway.
A woman's voice.
Smooth and practiced.
*"Marcus.
My name is Carolyn Voss.
I'm a journalist with the Tribune.
I've been contacted by a source regarding your situation — specifically, your biological mother's history, including a period of homelessness, substance concerns, and a prior involvement with child protective services.
My deadline is tomorrow.
I wanted to give you the opportunity to comment before we publish."*
I held the phone away from my face.
Looked at Cecelia across the table.
She was watching me and she already knew, from my expression, that it wasn't good.
I put the phone back to my ear.
"Who was your source?" I said.
*"I'm not able to share that."*
"When did they contact you?"
*"I'm not at liberty—"*
"Was it Diane Kendall?"
A pause that lasted just long enough to be its own answer.
"The information you've been given," I said, "was provided by a woman who forged legal documents to sever my biological mother's parental rights eighteen years ago.
I have the original documents.
I have a witness.
And I have a recorded voicemail of Diane Kendall threatening my biological mother two days ago." I kept my voice level.
"If you publish a story built on her materials without knowing that, you'll be printing her defense for her.
I'd suggest you call your editor before your deadline."
Silence.
*"Can I call you back at this number?"*
"Yes."
I ended the call.
Cecelia was still watching me.
"She tried to go to the press," I said.
"Feed them a story about your past before we could tell ours."
"What did you say?"
"That we have evidence." I set the phone down.
"She's using everything she has.
Lawyers.
Process servers.
Journalists.
She's trying to box us in from every side before I turn eighteen."
"How many days?"
"Six."
The phone rang again.
Carolyn Voss.
*"I spoke to my editor,"* she said.
*"He wants to hear your side.
Can you come in tomorrow?"*
Cecelia and I looked at each other.
"Yes," I said.
"We'll both come."
The interview ran the following day.
Cecelia and I sat across from two journalists in a conference room and told the full story from the beginning.
We brought the documents.
We played the voicemail.
Ruth Halliday joined by phone and gave a brief, precise account of what she had witnessed and what she had kept.
The journalist who had called me — Carolyn Voss — took notes the entire time.
She asked careful questions.
She did not look like someone who had expected to hear any of this.
When it was over, she walked us to the elevator.
"I need to verify the documents," she said.
"And reach out to Diane Kendall for comment." She paused.
"For what it's worth, I want you to know — I was handed what I was told was a backgrounder.
I had no idea what I was being used for."
"I know," I said.
The elevator doors opened.
"The voicemail," she said.
"That's going to be the center of this story."
"Good," I said.
May you like
"That's exactly what she said when she thought no one was keeping records."
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